New Beginnings
by thegoldhat
Summary: What's a single woman to do when she trips, literally, over her now homeless, former high school crush and basketball superstar? She decides to pluck him from the streets and help him rebuild his life. TroyGabriella.
1. Runaway Money

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _High School Musical_.

**Summary: **What's a single woman to do when she trips, literally, over her now homeless, former high school crush, the basketball superstar himself, Troy Bolton? She decides to pluck him from the streets and help him rebuild his life. TroyGabriella.

**Back story: **It's a bit AUish. But Gabriella did transfer to East High. She was still the brainiac and Troy was still the basketball captain. They shared some classes. But they never sang together, so they don't really know each other. Original, no? (Sarcasm was intended) Oh, and by the way, I've also changed that Gabriella did pre-med instead of pre-law.

* * *

If one were to ask me, Gabriella Montez, at age eighteen, where I would be ten years later, I'd proudly answer that I'd have graduated medical school and, without hesitation, I'd say I would be starting an internship with my best friend Taylor at my side. And I would have moved out of my mother's house by then and maybe I would live in a nice apartment with a nice, friendly cat to come home to.

And ten years later, this is exactly where I'm at.

If one were to ask me, Gabriella Montez, at age eighteen, how my love-life would be ten years later (which my mother usually did as she only had one child: her only hope of having grandchildren), I'd sputter and try to change the topic while my face turned a lovely shade of tomato red. Because you see, at age eighteen, I still had never been kissed or asked out by a boy before. Boyfriends would only interfere with your studies. That was my motto—or at least it was whenever a snobby cheerleader asked who my date to prom was.

And ten years later, I find myself wishing I could shake some sense into that eighteen-year-old version of me for not getting any experience with the opposite sex, because now, sitting in a quaint restaurant, across from my blind date, I have no idea what to do. I feel clueless and out of place. Yet if I had gone on a couple dates as a teenager, everyone else would have been just as clueless and out of place as me, and I wouldn't be feeling like an amateur swimmer in a pool of Olympic candidates like I am right now.

The gorgeous Italian model, who Taylor had set me up with, begins droning on about his skin care techniques, "While I prefer shark oil essence, a friend of mine is convinced natural bee mucus extract is the best choice. What do you think?"

"Um, I watched the Discovery Chanel once, and found out there are these sharks that produce _gallons_ of thick, slimy, overall just disgusting mucous which they use to trap the food they eat. Is that what you use?" I ask.

Choking on the low-calorie salad he ordered, my date manages to reply, "I don't—I don't know, but I think it does wonders for my skin."

"That's...good. Your skin does look nice."

Another moment of awkwardness passes between us. It's the twenty-second one this evening, I note.

Perhaps this whole dating thing isn't for me.

Perhaps I should have just been born into the Hindu religion and my mother could have simply _arranged_ a marriage for me.

After Antonio, my date, excuses himself and heads to the restrooms, a waitress makes her way over to my table. "Oh, my God," she gushes, staring at his ass. "He's a keeper. If you ever get bored of him..." she teases and trails off, sighing dreamily.

Somehow, I find the will power to not shove the model directly into the waitress' awaiting arms and steal his shiny sports car that's parked outside.

I pick at remains of my seafood dish. Antonio comes back and slides himself into the booth.

"Are you done?"

"Yes, all finished."

"Okay, me, too. Let's go." He smiles and asks a swooning waitress for the bill.

"Are you sure? You've barely touched your dinner!" I exclaim, feeling as though this conversation is usually the other way around.

My self-conscious companion nods and we exit the restaurant together after splitting the payment. We walk into the cool, already-dark night towards the metallic car that I swear has been the best part of this date. I decide that after becoming a full-fledged doctor, getting an expensive car will be one of the first things on my to-do list. Maybe I'll even get one for my mom so she'll be too distracted to nag about how she'll never have grand kids to spoil.

Before entering the Ferrari, Antonio surprisingly backs me up into a brick wall of a near-by building. He leans his right hand at the side of my face and bends down so I'm staring straight into his hazel eyes.

"I had a great night with you, Gabriella," he states, huskily, but all I can think about is how we should have received breath mints at the restaurant because the scent entering my nose is revolting.

Oh, wait.

Oh, no.

He's going to kiss me.

I never saw the face of the last man I kissed ever again.

Hm, maybe I should kiss him then...

Or not.

My knees bend at the last second, and I'm sliding down the rough wall while my date smashes his face against it.

"What the fuck?! What did you do that for?" he bellows.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so, so sorry, Antonio." I stand back up to my full height. He's gripping his face in pain. "Are you okay?" I ask timidly.

"No! I'm not fucking okay. Why'd you move out of the way?" Dark red blood trickles from his flaring nostrils. I start feeling a bit nauseous at the sight of it.

"I didn't mean to. It just happened. I'm so sorry. Should we go back to the restaurant to get some ice for you?"

He wipes his bruising nose and winces. "Jesus. You broke my fucking nose."

Well, how was I supposed to know, and how'd he bash his face into the wall in the first place? Aren't you supposed to _slowly_ lean in for a kiss and not rush into it like your face is a freight train? If I hadn't avoided him, we would've both been nursing injuries.

"You know what? This has been the worst date of my life. You've ruined my flawless face." He stumbles towards his car, wretching the door open.

"Are you going to leave me here?!" My voice rises an octave.

His parting words are, "Arrivederci, Gabriella," and he drives off, leaving me stunned.

I'm so going to kill Taylor for setting me up with this jerk. Or maybe she'll kill me for pissing off the umpteenth hot guy she's convinced to give me a chance.

I slide my hands into my pocket, looking around the barren parking lot. Great. How am I supposed to get home now? Both my hands are now searching my pockets thoroughly for any money for the bus fare. There's no coins, but I manage to find two five dollar bills so I'd end up having to over-pay the driver. Oh well, whatever gets me back to my safe and cozy apartment.

Right. So the bus stop is _that_ way. Or the other way. I'm sure I'll find it sooner or later.

I scan my surroundings again, checking if there's anyone there. Feeling childish, I impulsively try to flip the bill to help me decide which direction I should take.

Abraham Lincoln is right. Lincoln Memorial is left.

The flimsy paper flutters to the ground. Right it is. As I'm bending down to pick it up, a huge gust of wind sweeps it out of my reach. Before I know it, I'm a frantic mess attempting to catch the escaping money. Several more gusts of wind follow until I can't even see it anymore, but I'm still running as fast as I can, maybe even hoping it'll spontaneously fall into my hands.

My foot hits something and I'm falling forward. The dusty ground seems to be coming towards my face at a mile a minute.

Thankfully, I get my hands in front of me just in time and I don't have to suffer the same fate as Antonio.

My head instinctively turns toward whatever or whoever caused me to trip.

It's a man and it's his outstretched leg that's gotten my whole life to flash in front of my eyes. I glare at him, then I get up and dust myself off. His face is mostly covered by his beard and his clothes are ripped and tattered. Even from where I'm standing I can still smell the odour coming from his scrawny body. It looks like someone could bottle up all the grease coating his hair if anyone would dare to. But he doesn't look too old, I notice. Maybe he's even close to my age.

The scruffy man grumbles, "Would you please spare some change, Miss?"

Okay, so he trips me, doesn't say sorry and then _asks for my money_?

I suddenly realize who he is. After all, every time the teacher would talk about something I already knew, I'd be doodling his name beside mine, with a heart between them, in the margins of my notebook. Memories of my old high school infatuation resurfaces. I won't let myself admit it to anyone, but under all the facial hair and grease, his good looks have only gotten better over time.

"Hi...er...Troy?" Should I have even spoken to him? I'm notorious for mistaking strangers for people I know. Just ask the man with dreadlocks at the airport who I met and thought was my aunt last year.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" he demands.

"I'm Gabriella Montez. So are you Troy...Bolton?"

"Yes...how do you know me?" The man looks confused and somewhat scared.

"I went to your school, East High. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I thought your face looked familiar. I mean, there were posters of you plastered everywhere since you were on the basketball team and was the captain everyone worshiped."

"Oh. You went to East High? I don't recall ever seeing you around. Were you the girl who had some weird crush on Chad and got her hair caught on fire when you guys were lab partners once in grade ten?"

"No... I just moved to Albuquerque halfway through my junior year. I guess you didn't see me because you were the popular jock and I was kind of a nerd, a Freaky Math Girl," I mumble the last part. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I know the identity of the sophomore he was talking about. So that's why Taylor was so strict about tying your hair up during science class.

He gives a defeated laugh. "Hey, don't be ashamed that you're smart. Look at me. I was the 'popular jock', and now I'm living on the streets, begging for money. And you were this so-called 'nerd' and you're..."

"A medical school graduate," I finish for him, but I mentally kick myself for rubbing his failure in his face afterwards.

"Nice. You know, I would've given up my popularity if it meant I wouldn't end up like this. To be honest, I could've focused on my studies more. Since my dad was the coach, he'd let me stay on the team even though my grades were slipping. And sometimes, my head wouldn't be totally in the game. I almost signed up for the winter musical during junior year and spent a good number of practices regretting that I didn't," he reminisces.

Surprised at how much he was opening up, I say, "So did I! I got pretty intimidated by those sparkly twins though. I showed up for the auditions and everything, but I chickened out and hid in the back."

"Ah, Sharpay and Ryan can be pretty scary. I planned to go to them too, but I had basketball practice and didn't get to it."

"That's a shame. I bet lots of our classmates would have paid good money to see the basketball playmaker in a leotard dancing to show tunes, doing spirit fingers."

"Somehow I have a feeling my team would've found someway to keep me from going anyways though."

"Troy...if you don't mind me asking, what happened? Before I left for the pre-med program, you led the East High Cougars or Lions—whatever—to winning the championships. And I heard you got a ton of offers from various universities. You, like, had your whole future planned out as a NBA star."

"_Wildcats_."

"Sorry?"

"We were the East High Wildcats."

"Oh. Well, I knew it was something feline."

"You were pretty close. I'll give you half marks for that." He smiles cheekily.

I pause, wondering if he's going to reply. "You don't have to answer my question. It was pretty personal, sorry."

"I predicted that you'd be curious." He shrugs but still doesn't answer my question or refuse to.

My right hand moves my left sleeve back, and I'm looking at my bare wrist. "Er, I really should go. It's getting late."

"An imaginary watch, eh? I used to wear those all the time," Troy jokes lamely.

"Very funny." I flush red. "Do you happen to know where the closest bus stop is?"

"That way." He points in the direction I came in. Left. Guess Abe was wrong.

"Thanks."

I start to walk away when a pale piece of paper hiding in a corner catches my eye. It's the five dollar bill from before, and it's been sitting here all this time, unmoving. I walk over and bend down to pick it up.

"Wow, wish I could randomly find money on the ground like that." Troy stares at me wide-eyed and looks at it longingly.

Feeling generous, I hand him the bill. "I lost this earlier and was chasing it. That's why I ran into you. You can have it, actually." I sternly advise him, "Spend it wisely."

"You bet I will. Thanks!" He grins widely and pockets the money. For his sake, I hope there aren't any holes it could fall out of. "And it's, uh, been nice talking to you, Gabriella."

"Likewise, Troy." I start to slowly leave, giving him a small smile over my shoulder. Every teenage girl would jump at the chance of talking to their high school crush. Ten years later, I got my conversation.


	2. Apartment Mates

**Authors Note:**Specialspecialspecial thanks to LongHardRoadOuttaHell for beta-ing this chapter!

-----

I know, I know.

I know I shouldn't driving around near the restaurant from last night, trying to retrace my steps, looking for Troy Bolton.

But I am.

And I am because...well because if _I_ ended up without a home, a job or friends, I'd only hope Troy Bolton would come looking for _me_.

The only problem is, I don't know where to find him. It's 10:00am and my surroundings look a bit different in broad daylight than they did in the dark. I'm not even sure that he'll be in the same spot. Do homeless people like a change in scenery every now and then? What if Troy bought a lottery ticket with my five bucks and over one night he became a multi-millionaire, wanting nothing to do with me?

Hold up. I think I recognize that trash can. And the strange markings on the sidewalk! I must be close. I'm certain this was the way I came yesterday while chasing the bill.

I'm forced to park my car because of the no parking zone up ahead and sprint up the street, excitedly.

"Careful, or you might trip again," a far away voice warns me.

I spin around. He's a few yards away and I walk over to join him. Troy looks the same as he did the other day, still slouching against the building with his legs outstretched, waiting to cause harm to someone else. Maybe he even looks a bit worse as he doesn't have the darkness to partly hide his greasy hair, ripped clothing and bony figure — not at all like his ripped body back in high school, I notice.

Troy asks, "You're back?"

"Er, yeah. Just wanted to say hi again."

"Worried I spent the money on drugs and alcohol?"

"...No." But his reason is better than my 'I used to have a crush on you' one.

He waves the money at me. "Well I didn't."

"What are you going to spend it on?"

"Food, probably. But I only spend the money I get in emergencies so I'm saving it." His stomach growls shortly after he finishes his sentence.

"Sounds to me like you're hungry right now."

"I like to save it until I'm absolutely dying. I don't get money often. It's the kids who've run away from home that get all the donations. You don't get any sympathy for being a jobless bum."

Ouch. He sounds so defeated that I'm actually feeling guilty about my success. "How long have you been...living like this?" I suppose my questions are a bit rude, but I can't stop myself.

"Almost a year I guess." Troy raises his eyebrows when I sit down beside him.

"What? I didn't exactly wear the most comfortable shoes to be standing in and I don't have anything to do this morning so I hope you don't mind if I stay and chat..."

"No, of course not. I'm glad you're back and I'd love to talk. I haven't had company in a while," he genuinely smiles at me. "So tell me about yourself, Gabriella Montez. Like what did you do after high school?"

"Well, I went to university, then med school and I just started interning at a nearby hospital."

"Did you keep in touch with your friends?"

"Just Taylor, remember her?"

"I think so. She was really smart, right?"

"Yeah, she's an intern too." I pause. "...so do your parents know?" I gesture at our surroundings.

"About me living on the streets? No, they moved out of Albuquerque a while back because my mom got transferred. I haven't been keeping in touch with them. I could be dead and they wouldn't know. My dad had a hard time accepting..." he trails off. "Do you still talking to your parents?"

"Uh my mom lives around here. I talk to her almost every other day." His dad had a hard time accepting what? Darn Troy for being so mysterious.

"That must be nice."

"It is. We've always been close."

"Relationship status?" he inquires in a teasing tone.

"Single," I admit.

"Well I've been single for several years."

"Didn't you used to have girls flinging themselves at you back in high school? You, like, always had one hanging off each arm."

He modestly shrugs. "I didn't date much back then though. In senior year I only had one girlfriend, Sharpay."

"_You_ dated _Sharpay_?"

"Not very willingly," chortles Troy, "I only did because her dad had connections and could get me into the University of Albuquerque."

So here we are, former basketball superstar and freaky math girl, having a perfectly normal conversation when I blurt out, "Hey, do you want to come to my apartment?"

Crap. What did I just do?! Oh right. I just invited someone who's practically a stranger - who I'm not entirely sure I can trust yet - to come to where I live. My palms start to sweat furiously. I can't just go 'Oops, I didn't mean to say that!' to him, can I? I don't even know why it slipped out. He just looked so hopeless and tired of living in these conditions. It's like when you see those commercials about starving children in third world countries or abused animals and before you know it, you're dialling the phone, ready to donate eight dollars a month to help. Or maybe that's just me.

"What? You're kidding, right?" he asks.

Sincerely I say, "No, I mean it."

Oh no no no. It's like my brain's on autopilot and I can't turn it off. Maybe I should hold my tongue before I get myself deeper into this mess.

"You seem like a good person, Troy, and I want to help you and maybe we could begin by getting you some food and getting you cleaned up." Too late.

"Seriously?" He looks so happy and his whole face lights up at the prospect of starting his life over.

Okay, maybe it won't be so bad. Think of how great you'll feel once you see Troy get back on his feet knowing you helped him. "Yes, I believe everyone deserves a chance at a new beginning." I stand up and hold out my hand to help Troy get off the ground.

I've never been one for spontaneity. This is the most impulsive thing I've ever done, but Troy is just glowing beside me as we make our way to the bus stop and I can't help but feel a little proud of myself.

One car ride later, I open the door to my apartment letting Troy take it all in.

"Wow, it's been so long since I've seen a couch...and look, carpeting!"

I giggle at his amused face and tell him to remove his mud-caked shoes. Once he does, he pads over to the couch that's got him all riled up.

"Gabriella, what's this peculiar pillow you've got here? It's oddly shaped and very furry..."

"Oh, that's—" But it's too late. He's already prodded my pet cat right between it's eyes and the aggravated animal is now clinging to his face while he back-pedals away. "Troy! Stop pulling his tail, you'll only make him more angry!" I try to save the poor man from the wrath of my pet by gripping on to it's sides and pulling as hard as I can.

"Holy shit! Get this thing off me!" comes Troy's muffled cry for help.

The feline releases Troy's head as I get a good hold on it and pry it away. As I clutch my yowling cat close to me, I gape at Troy's dishevelled and scratched up face.

And I'm sure that if Troy was Antonio, he'd be threatening to sue me right about now.

"God, I hate cats."

"That's just Fluffy's way of saying that you need to shave." I gently set my cat down and it trots off to go sunbathe near a window. "Come here." I motion him over to the bathroom so I can clean his cuts.

"Ow!" he complains as I apply disinfectant.

"Just hold still," I murmur to him before I place a band-aid on a bleeding cut.

"Thanks. Hey, you know, you already make a pretty great doctor." says Troy cheekily when I finish.

"I hope I will." I laugh. "So do you want anything to eat? Er, I'll have to go to buy food because I don't really have much." I still needed to restock my refrigerator. Last night I ate out so I didn't need to go grocery shopping. We walk to my small kitchen.

"No it's okay. I can have anything. Trust me, if you haven't eaten in hours, everything tastes good."

"So do you want expired cheese or a jar of mustard?"

"And how far is the store again?"

"You can stay here. I'll just pop out quickly to pick us up some lunch and get you some new clothes and maybe a razor while I'm at it," I inform him, my eyes trained on his messy appearance.

"Okay."

"Alright," I say as I pick up my purse, "I'll be back in a bit. Bye."

--

You can do this, Gabriella. It's just like when you first brought Fluffy home. But instead of cat food, grooming supplies, toy mice and litter for a litter box, you're going to be buying human food, personal hygiene items and men's clothing. I wish I could've taken Troy along and buy him whatever he pointed out, but I'm not sure if he wanted to walk into a department store with his stench and one-sleeved, dirt-stained shirt.

I enter the clothing section of the store and glance around. Having no idea what to get, I settle for plain blue shirt and jeans, hoping they were Troy's size.

"Are you going to try those on, Miss?" a dull looking store employee asks.

Oh yes, I'm a female in the men's clothing area, holding men's clothing that I want to see will fit me. "No, I'm fine."

After paying for everything and walking out of the store, my cell phone rings and it occurs to me that I could've just called my house, hoping Troy would pick up, so I could ask him what he wanted.

"Hello?"

"Gabriella," says my mother.

"Hi mom."

"I was cleaning the basement yesterday and I found a bunch of your old things, like school awards and yearbooks, would you want to keep them? The house is so cluttered nowadays, I need to make some room."

I'll admit, I'm a sucker for things of sentimental value and I would never throw my memories away. "I can come pick them up."

"It's okay, I'm visiting a friend of mine who lives near you later. I'll drop them off."

"Okay, is that it?"

"Yes, bye Gabi. I'll see you later."

"Bye mom."

"Oh wait! How'd your date go last night? I didn't want to call earlier because I wouldn't want to inter — "

I press the end call button and head home, making a mental note to apologise for being rude later.

"Troy, I'm back!" I call once I lug everything I bought into my apartment. "Troy?" He's nowhere in sight. Oh shit shit shit. How _stupid_was I? I should have locked him outside and made him wait. I hurry to my bedroom, checking if all my jewellery and valuables are there, fearing for the worst. Everything seems to be accounted for, but I can't be sure until my breathing goes back to normal.

"Gabriella? What are you doing?"

"T-troy?" I turn around to find him in the doorway, hands dripping wet, looking puzzled.

"I just had to use your bathroom, Gabriella." He frowns. "If you don't trust me, I'll leave."

"No, please stay. I'm sorry, I got a bit paranoid."

He promises, "I'm not here to steal any of your things. You can trust me."

The ends of my lips curve upwards. "I believe you."

Troy smiles too. "Good."

"I got you some stuff." I pick up everything I dropped in my mad dash to reassure myself nothing was missing.

"Thanks." He takes it and shuts the door of the bathroom behind him. I hear the water running and twenty minutes later, a groomed Troy, wearing proper clothes, steps out into my living room. My jaw almost hits the floor and even Fluffy can't stop staring. He hesitantly questions, "so how do I look?"

"Well, no one's going to know you've been homeless for the past year, that's for sure," I reply.

Troy beams. "Thanks, Gabriella, I owe you so much."

"Don't worry about it. I couldn't just leave you out there, could I?"

"No, you could have. I mean, we barely knew each other and..."

"Troy, I'm glad I was able to help and I don't regret anything. Do you want lunch now?"

"Of course! I'm starving." We sit ourselves on opposite ends of the table in my kitchen and start eating the already-prepared sandwiches I picked up after stopping by the department store. "Thanks again, Gabriella. This is insanely nice and I don't know how I'll ever repay you. Just hours ago, I didn't have any hope for myself, but you've really inspired me to change and I've got to get a job now that I look nice enough for an interview, then I'll need to find a place of my own - "

"You're leaving? But you can stay," I hastily interrupt him.

"That'd be too much."

"No I wouldn't mind if you stayed for a while, because I couldn't just send you back out there. If it makes you feel any better, once you find a job, you can pay half the rent."

"Seriously?"

I nod. "Yeah, and I think Taylor knows someone who owns a restaurant and is looking to hire waiters. I could ask her about it if you'd like."

"Wow, it would be great if you could." He grins.

"And you know, I'd enjoy the company. Taylor's kind of my only friend right now and as great as she is, she's pretty busy, so I get lonely. Give me five more years and I'll bet they'll be twenty more cats running around this place," I joke.

"I know how you feel about the loneliness," Troy sympathetically says. We spend a few more minutes to eat before he pipes up again. "So just out of curiosity, what were you doing last night, before we met?"

"I was on a date," I answer.

Troy raises his eyebrows, unsatisfied with my vague response. "And he let you walk home by yourself? It's pretty dangerous for a gorgeous woman like you to be out that late. I mean, there are scary homeless guys everywhere..."

I laugh and blush slightly at his comment about my non-existent good looks. "Yes, but it was my fault. He got mad...he tried kissing me but ended up breaking his nose instead."

"You that bad, Montez?" he questions.

"No! I ducked out of the way and he hit the brick wall behind me, but it was just a reflex. I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He was that appalling then?"

Scoffing, I reply, "No, he was a gorgeous Italian model for your information."

"So why didn't you want to kiss him?"

"Well...I don't know. I don't think I've ever kissed a guy properly before and I was scared."

"Never kissed a guy properly?"

"You're not supposed to bash teeth or have spit running down your chin, right?"

He doesn't answer, but instead throws his head back and laughs. Now I would have normally been offended, but for some reason I feel a strong sense of familiarity like we've been friends for years and I simply grin back.

**--**

**Author's Note:** You'll find out what happened to Troy in the next chapter. I'll try and update as fast as I can, but I'm juggling two stories. This one and a co-written one with my friend (link is on my profile page). And I'm trying to make my chapters longer so that takes a bit more time to write too. Hopefully no update will have less than 2000 words.


	3. Invitation

**Author's Note: **Okay, uhmm, during the month-long period where I neglected to update this story, I seem to have lost any ability to write humorous and moderately long chapters. My life has been so uneventfully boring that it's influenced my writing. So I guess you'll have to cope with dreary, short updates until I find it again. My apologies!

Big thanks to everyone who reviewed recently. You reminded me that this story still existed.

_**--**_

There's a polite knock on my door, and I guess it's my mother because Taylor usually pounds on it mercilessly until I answer. I excuse myself, telling Troy I will simply be gone for a minute.

After swiftly unlocking the door, I open it just enough so I can stick my head out and greet my mother. I didn't want to explain the whole Troy situation quite yet. Being the slightly overprotective parent she is, she might not approve, and I could not risk getting him kicked out when I had recently brought hope back into his life.

"Mija!" she chimes brightly, "I brought you your old things." She makes a sweeping gesture, showing me the knee-high cardboard box at her feet. I can see my gold decathlon trophy poking out from one of the cracks.

"Thanks, mom," I merrily chirp while squeezing myself through the opening, trying to grab the box but not revealing too much of my apartment.

"So, could I come in for a moment?" questions my mom ignorantly, "I came early because I thought we could chat for a bit. My friend isn't expecting me until later."

I nervously chuckle. I didn't want her to get the impression that I'd blatantly refuse to have a harmless conversation with my own mother, but I did already have company over, somewhat permanent company, too. "Um, actually, mom, I have another guest here."

"Oh?" Raising an eyebrow, she urges, "Who?"

"N-no one you'd know..." I mentally scold myself for giving her such a vague answer, knowing she'd only grow more curious and push for more information that I didn't want to share for obvious reasons.

I wince when we hear Troy's voice calling my name. "Uh, Gabriella? Your cat just coughed up a hairball, and I...I think the lump is moving," he gulps.

My mother perks up considerably at the unfamiliar male voice, and I can safely assume she's already hearing the wedding bells while picturing flowing, expensive white gowns. "Who's that," she eagerly asks, "and can I meet him?"

I guess she was content with me not running off with boys, avoiding my studies, when I was sixteen, but her concern started to surface when she noticed I had no interest in love at all. Even Taylor was bewildered when I refused to admit to having crushes. I can still remember the embarrassing time that my mom and Taylor started congratulating me when they thought the hair straightener burn on my neck was a hickey.

"It's a friend," I blurt out, "and he's kind of...shy." My tone rises in the end as if I'm posing a question.

"Can't I give a quick hello? Really, Gabriella, are you going to leave your mother standing outside in the cold, cold weather?"

I roll my eyes. This is either a whole new level of exaggeration or aging makes you hallucinate because she's motioning to the dreary, pale hallway of the building. She manages to recognize that she's just as bad at lying as I am, and she tries to discretely pry the door open wider.

"Mom, he's really just a friend who wouldn't interest you whatsoever," I attempt to convince her.

"Fine, fine," she sighs, backing off. "I'll be on my way then. Good-bye, sweetie!" She waves happily.

"Bye, mom!" I call as she walks away briskly. I struggle to heave the box into my apartment, wondering how the heck my mother became a heavyweight champion since the last time I saw her.

"Need help with that?" inquires Troy innocently, popping out from nowhere. He effortlessly takes the box from my arms without waiting for a response. "So I'm boring, am I? Not interesting?"

"Not at all!" I explain, "I just thought introducing you guys would be embarrassing."

"Because twenty-four hours ago, I was dirty and homeless?"

I shake my head. "It's not that. But you know parents...meeting their child's friend is like unlocking a gate holding back dozens of cringe-worthy stories."

"Yeah, I can understand. So about your cat..." He trails off and sets the box on the floor, watching me examine the hairball intently.

Eyeing the revolting pile of hair and wrinkling my nose, I ask, "You said it was moving?"

"I swore it was," he answered sincerely from behind me, still wary of the hairball. You'd think the guy would be more used to filth.

I grab a paper towel and swiftly scoop it up, chucking it in the garbage can to dispose of the wet hair. After scrubbing the area where it landed, I inform him, "Sorry, about that. Fluffy usually doesn't have hairballs, I brush him regularly."

"It's okay," he states, a bit more relaxed. "So what is in this?" He nudges the box casually.

"Just old high school things of mine, like yearbooks and photos. I hate throwing away memories, so I asked my mom if I could keep them when she told me she found the items." I start to absent-mindedly shuffle through my mail that I picked up on my way out before lunch, as I hadn't gotten a chance to look at it yet.

"Can I see them?" he says, inspecting the box with interest.

"Sure."

He rummages through the box and eventually grabs the yearbook of our senior year. Lackadaisically flipping through the book, he smiles knowingly at certain pages, and there seems to be a hint of regret in his eyes. "Hey, you look kind of the same," he comments, stopping to attentively glance at what I would assume to be my picture before resuming his page turning.

"Um, oh," I say disappointingly. In ten years, I'm still my freaky nerdy self? I had hoped being older would enhance my appearance so I would look more mature, as if I was someone people would speak seriously to.

He instantly blurts, "No, sorry! That's not what I meant. You do look older—but not old!" He flinches at his slip up but catches himself.

"That's good?" I let out a giggle at his startled face, placing the letters back down to cross my arms.

"I meant to say, um, that you looked pretty back then, and you still look pretty now," he declares triumphantly.

Caught off guard at his compliment, I stammer, "Oh, well, thank you."

"But I guess I shouldn't have said that because I think you look even more beautiful," he says kindly, surprising me again.

"You're just trying to flatter me because I've given you a place to stay," I tease.

I blush when he genuinely replies, "No, I mean it. It's true. Haven't you ever gotten compliments before?"

"Um, only for my intelligence, I guess."

"Really? I think you're an all around great person," he says, making me blush harder.

My old high school crush, who I used to simple admire from behind the crowd (composed of cheerleaders and his team mates) that always surrounded him, was praising _me_, making me feel significant. His drool-worthy good looks weren't the only reason for my crush. Every word I overheard him speak made him seem down-to-earth and intelligent. He didn't let his popularity give him a big head, and I admired him for that. I saw him work hard for his status, which he absolutely deserved.

"I think you're a great person, too, Troy." I could only flatter him back.

He stares at me for a moment, unblinking, and indifferently says, "Not with the way I ended up." He sounds so depressed that I want to give him a hug and a giant lollipop to sooth his troubles.

"Troy—"

"I suppose you still want to know how came to live on the streets?"

"I...I'm a naturally inquisitive person," I admit guiltily, diverting my eyes from him, "but you don't have to tell me."

"No." He's suddenly uneasy, and I can sense an internal debate going on. "I want to tell you because I don't want you thinking that I was a lazy ass, who only relied on his parents. I worked hard, Gabriella, but it wasn't enough to support me and my family."

"F-family?" I choke. Were they homeless, too? I'd feel immoral if I left his family out there and only took him in, but I was frightened at the thought of housing more people. "I thought you said you've been single for several years and your parents moved."

"Let me explain from the beginning," Troy starts, "Remember when I said I dated Sharpay back in high school? She broke up with me after East High lost the championship game because she was headed off to Julliard, and she didn't believe in long distance relationships. I was mildly upset about that, even more upset about our loss, so a couple of guys from the team, and I crashed a party. Long story short, I got drunk and had sex with some girl who had also consumed a lot of alcohol. Her name was Leslie, and she got pregnant but decided to keep the baby.

"Of course our parents were disappointed in us. Her mother and father didn't understand why she'd want to raise a child at such a young age, so they disowned Leslie. My parents didn't talk to me either. I had to help her, you know? We were both equally responsible for what happened. We thought we could pull it off. She was a great girl who just made a mistake that changed everything, and we grew really close. We both attended University of Albuquerque, and we had part-time jobs. Unfortunately, it was all so demanding, and our combined income wasn't enough, so I had to drop out. I lost contact with everyone, all my friends."

I feel horror-stricken, my eyes softening in sympathy. In high school, he had it all, and everyone envied him, but that was all cruelly taken away.

He continues, "Leslie died from a bad case of pneumonia shortly after. She thought she was fine, and refused to get help because we couldn't afford it. I struggled to raise the baby on my own, but knew it wasn't fair to him, so I gave him up for adoption, something I realized we should have done in the first place. Then I spent years working some crappy place, still trying to earn money so I could go back to school. But I messed up and got fired in the end. Being jobless, I couldn't pay my own rent, and when I didn't have anywhere to sleep, I went to the streets."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry about Leslie and about everything else," I quietly say, wringing my hands in discomfort. How was I supposed to respond to all that?

"Don't be. You're the nicest person I've met since my parents kicked me out, Gabriella." He smiles wryly.

Slowly, making an effort to wrap my head around his entire explanation, I question, "So you have a son somewhere?"

"Yeah, I do," he wistfully replies.

"Do you remember him at all?"

"We parted when he was about ten months old. I remember him looking exactly like me. That's what Leslie said, anyway." A nostalgic expression crosses his face. "I never once imagined what being a father would feel like. When she told me she was pregnant, I think my heart stopped beating for a moment."

"It's like a boatload of responsibility being dumped on you all at once, right?" I quip skittishly, and I ask, "What was his name?"

"His name was Zac. Zachary Bolton. Leslie picked it out."

"It's a nice name."

"I've tried to find him before, but I ultimately gave up in the end. I just hope he's in a good place," he remorsefully sighs, gazing my floor.

I glance frantically around for something to change the topic with because he appears so sorrowful and penitent that I just can't take it anymore. My abandoned mail pile catches my attention, and I pick it up. "Oh, look, Troy!" I exclaim, looking at my pile. The first letter is my credit card bill. Flicking that aside, I hastily rip open and scan the next one. "It's—it's an invitation to our high school reunion," I stutter.

"It is?" His tone changes from atoning to inquiring in a second, and he walks over to glance at the white paper with red lettering. The fancy, loopy font reads:

__

You and a guest are invited to

****

EAST HIGH's

Class of 1999

10-Year Reunion

Saturday, July 20th, 2009

Lava Springs Country Club  
Albuquerque, New Mexico

7:00 pm - 11:00 pm

$30:00 per person

__

RVSP by July 16th

Come join everyone at the exquisite Lava Springs Country Club  
for a night of recalling memories with your fellow Wildcats.  
We hope to see you there!

"Ooh, it sounds fun," I comment. Back in the day, I was never really social, so my old classmates probably wouldn't remember me, but I try to sound interested for Troy.

"You want to go?"

"Well, don't you?"

"So everyone can hound me and ask why they haven't seen me on TV, playing in the NBA yet?" he laughs.

I cringe shamefully. "Oh, sorry."

"I was kidding, Gabriella. You should go."

Hopeful, I venture, "Will you go with me? No one's going to tease you or anything. I doubt half of the popular people became successful like they imagined." I leave out the fact that I've seen Sharpay in the newspaper from time to time.

"There's still weeks before you have to RSVP. I'll think about it," he says, "Wait, I can't afford this!"

"I'll pay for you," I state as if it was obvious.

"Gabriella!" he utters exasperatedly, "I can't let you do that! You've already done so much."

"Troy," I groan, "Just come. It's no big deal." It might be good for him if he catches up with some of his old companions.

"We'll see," he says finally. I smile at his submission and go to tuck the invitation in a safe place for when he agrees to go. I'm determined to help him be happy with his life again. Even if that means dragging him to see his former classmates or going to the ends of the Earth to search for his son.

**_--_**

**Author's Note:** Just wondering . . . how long does it take everyone else to write a chapter of your story? About 2,000 words if you're one of those astounding people who has ten-thousand word updates. I feel pathetically turtle-like at times. Takes me forever to think of a few lines to type up.

Also, I kind of somewhat have no idea what to do with the rest of this story. Like, I don't know what residency's all about or anything. Well, I have watched 2.5 episodes of ER, but that's pretty much it. And I don't know what a homeless guy would do to get his life back on track. Then I'm scared everything will sound dreadfully unrealistic if I even attempt to continue. Usually, I'd have a vague outline in mind when posting a new story, but, to be honest, I was too excited to get the first chapter out. You guys reviewed, and then all of a sudden a new chapter was written, and now I'm stuck.

For any of you reading Cry, I have half the next chapter written.

Oh, look. An author's note that's on the verge of being long than the chapter itself. Haha, sorry. I ramble sometimes.


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